


fake it so real

by cherryvanilla



Series: Seven Minutes [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Party, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is a party and seven minutes in heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fake it so real

**Author's Note:**

> some Stan/Kyle undertones. The boys are 16.

It’s early March in junior year and its fucking freezing outside but it’s quiet possibly colder in Craig’s basement. Kyle’s pressed into the corner of the couch next to Clyde and he can barely move his arms to reach for the Doritos.

They’re running out of places to go for house parties and no one ever wants to go to Cartman’s so it’s usually Craig’s. His basement is huge and his parents are generally out at night. Stan starts riffling through Craig’s parents’ record collection and holds up The Wall in triumph.

“Eh! Don’t you dare put on that hippie music, Stan!”

Kyle opens his mouth before Stan even has the chance. “Pink Floyd is _not_ ‘hippie music’ you uncultured fat swine. It’s psychedelic, progressive rock.”

“Thank you ever so much for that, Kyle. But I believe I was talking to my friend, Stan. Is your name Stan?”

“Oh shut the fuck up, fat-ass!”

“You really need to get a new insult Kyle. As you can see, I have not been fat in sometime. Tsk, tsk, honestly, I thought you were cleverer.”

Kyle fumes silently, face turning as red as the hair his hat is covering.

“Guys, just cut it out,” Stan says, ever-suffering before turning to put on the record. “Where’s the first part, Craig?”

“Eh, they lost it.”

“Well, part two it is.”

Kyle reclaims his spot on the couch while the soft sound of ‘Hey You’ filters the air.

Kyle watches Cartman, who is huddled in the corner playing video games. In freshman year of high school, Cartman got completely into America’s Next Top Model and decided to ‘become anorexic.’ It was ridiculous, extreme, and so completely Cartman. Once again, he staged a fundraiser. ‘Support My Dream to be the Next Top Model’ he called it. Once again, it was at the airport hotel convention room. Once again, no one showed.

Cartman binge dieted for weeks while the teachers got vaguely concerned and Kyle just wished the fat blob would evaporate into thin air. He ended up in the hospital after losing a ton of weight far too quickly. His weight stabilized to the point where he wasn’t exactly thin but wasn’t obese either. The first thing he said to Kyle was, “Can’t call me fat-ass anymore, Jew!”

Kyle responded that he’ll always be a fat-ass to him, to which Cartman replied, “Awww, I didn’t know you cared.”

Kyle would never admit it aloud, not even under extreme torture, but Cartman looked – kinda good. His eyes flicker to the other couch, where Wendy is lying over Stan’s legs and trying to reach up for kisses. Kyle watches as Stan tucks a piece of hair behind her ea affectionately and feels a slight twinge of jealousy. There have been a few almost-starts between him and Stan amidst Stan and Wendy’s on-again off-again coupling. Kyle figures if it’s meant to happen it will, but he’s not going to sit around waiting.

Kyle’s kind of lost in his own thoughts and the sounds of In the Flesh 2 when he hears, “Oh! I think I can get behind this hippie band. Did you hear that Kyle—they want to wrangle up all you Jews and put them ‘up against a wall.’ And you stick up for them? Shame.”

Kyle wants to slam his head against something. “Cartman. Have you seriously never heard of The Wall before? Do seriously not know that it’s a rock opera and the band is portraying a character? Pink imagines himself as a fascist dictator – what you should be envisioning is something akin to a Neo-Nazi rally. Right up your alley, fucktard.”

“All that justification, Kyle. Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“Asshole! It’s not the bands' feelings!”

“Does that make it right?!”

“AHHHH!” Stan naturally holds Kyle back before he can swing at Cartman. Kyle’s not even sure how he got there that fast.

“Guys, can you chill the fuck out? You’re killing my high,” Kenny says from his place sprawled out on the floor.

“You shouldn’t smoke pot, Kenny,” Kyle says, reprovingly.

“Watch it everyone, the moral police is here,” Cartman quips and a few people laugh.

“This is getting boring. We should play spin the bottle!” says Bebe, who gets up from her spot near Kenny.

“Oh, Bebe, spin the bottle is so 8th grade,” Wendy says.

“Wendy, you just don’t want to play because last time you had to kiss Jimmy and it scarred you for life,” Clyde says.

“Ac-actually, I d-d-din’t e-enjoy that either,” Jimmy says.

“Hey!” exclaims Wendy, affronted.

“Hmm,” Bebe says. “Seven minutes in heaven, then?”

“Yes!” Wendy adamently agrees.

There’s a mixture of groans and cheers from the room. Kyle still just wants to hit Cartman.

“Alright, I’ll put everyone’s name in a hat. Oldest person in the room chooses first,” Bebe says.

“That’s Kyle,” Butters pips up, helpfully.

Kyle groans. “I hate this stupid game.”

Once Bebe puts all the names in the hat she makes everyone gather around while Kyle chooses. “Alright, alright,” he grumbles before shoving his hand in the hat and pulling out the folded piece of paper.

His eyes widen as he looks at the name. “No. No way. No fucking way.”

“Who’d you get, Kyle?” Butters asks.

Bebe snatches the paper away. “He got Cartman!”

“What?!” Cartman screeches.

“I won’t do it, Bebe,” Kyle says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I mean, come on. They’ll kill each other,” Stan says.

“Somebody’s jealllousss,” Kenny sing-songs.

“Shut up, Kenny!” Stan and Kyle say in unison.

“What are you, Kyle? Too much of a pussy to go in a room with me?” Cartman says.

Kyle crosses to stand in front of him and pokes his finger at Cartman’s chest. “Are you saying you _want_ to?”

“Of course not, fag. But it’s the principle of the thing. And unlike you, I don’t back down to a challenge.”

“The principle of the thing,” Kyle says, skeptically. “Like me sucking your balls was.”

“Precisely, Kyle.”

“You’re so fucking full of shit, Cartman. And I _don’t_ back down from a challenge. Not even when it comes to sucking your disgusting balls.”

“Heh, heh, whoa guys, you only need to kiss in that room,” Token says.

“Argh, why me!” Kyle cries out, looking up to the ceiling.

“Don’t be such a bitch, Jew-ass,” Cartman says, “Just get in the room.”

“Awfully eager, aren’t you, Cartman?” Kenny smirks.

“Guys, just get in the damn room. Honestly, we spend half of these parties breaking up your fights!” Bebe yells, shoving them both toward the basement bedroom.

“Who has the timer?” Kyle asks before Bebe can slam the door.

“Relax, Kyle,” she grins and closes it in his face.

The room has full size bed, a purple lava lamp in the corner, and one other light shining from the other bedside table. “Fucking hippies,” Cartman mutters. He still wears a red jacket, different from the one he wore as a kid. He has a rip in his jeans which Kyle finds stupid as it’s like negative 10 degrees outside.

Cartman’s just staring at him and it sets Kyle on edge. “Look, there’s no reason for us to actually do anything. It’s not like anyone can tell.”

“Are you seriously backing down, Jew? God, you’re all alike. Shifty, sneaky, untrustworthy.”

“That’s it!” Kyle stalks toward him and starts to push him. “Fuck you, fat-ass, I’m tired of your unrelenting, monotonous shit. For years it’s Jew this, Jew that, get a new fucking line!” He pushes Cartman harder as his rant continues, until Cartman’s knees are flush with the back of the bed and Kyle is right in his face.

Cartman’s eyes flare. “Oh and you’re so original, Kyle? Fat-ass this, fat-ass that. I said it before but I guess it bears repeating huh? I’m not even fat anymore you motherfucking shithead so get a new insult yourself!”

Kyle lunges at him, toppling them both onto the bed. Cartman’s legs are hanging off the sides while Kyle straddles him, pinning his arms down. “No, you’re just a racist, bigoted prick!” he yells while Cartman struggles beneath him, pulling his weight up and flipping them over so Kyle’s underneath him and they’re both fully on the bed.

Kyle tries to break free and can’t, pinned by Cartman’s body flush on top of him.

They’re both panting, the feel of Cartman’s hot breath against his face making him shiver. “Get the fuck off me,” Kyle says, his voice nearly a whisper, and certainly not in the tone he intended. Their eyes meet and Kyle feels a jolt of electricity surge through his body, pooling in his groin. Cartman chooses that moment to shift, bringing their torsos together, his eyes dropping to Kyle’s lips.

“Oh fuck this,” Cartman says, and before Kyle can say what he’s being kissed. No, not kissed, claimed, devoured. Kyle gasps and Cartman uses the opportunity to slip his tongue between Kyle’s lips, finding his own and sucking hard. Kyle moans without thinking and wraps his arms and legs around Cartman, surging upward, their cocks brushing full-on.

“Holy shit,” Cartman pants against Kyle’s lips before taking them in another bruising kiss. Kyle fists his fingers in Cartman’s hair, pulling hard and exchanging biting kisses in return. He’s lost in the heat of their denim-clad erections, in the tantalizingly warmth of Cartman’s mouth, in the way Cartman’s fingertips are curving into his neck to hold him in place.

They kiss open-mouthed and rough, Cartman’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip, pulling hard and then soothing the flesh with his tongue. They rock together, bodies tight without a breath of air between them. Cartman breaks away from his mouth to suck a trail of kisses over Kyle’s jaw and down his neck while Kyle moves both hands to cup Cartman’s ass, the same damn ass he’s insulted for so many years.

Cartman’s teeth drag over his Adam’s apple before sucking hard. “Oh Jesus Christ,” Kyle moans, digging his fingertips into Cartman’s cheeks.

Cartman groans before panting out, “Are you taking my savior’s name in vein, Jewboy?”

“Don’t get self-righteous on me. You’re so going to hell,” Kyle retorts, tilting his head back further, silently asking Cartman to continue. He receives a sharp bite to the side of his neck and it makes him even harder.

“You’ll be there with me,” Cartman murmurs.

“That’s a lovely thought,” Kyle deadpans, gripping Cartman’s ass and urging him to move.

Cartman yanks off Kyle’s hat and shoves his fingers into his hair, roughly before claiming his mouth again in deep kiss, battling with their tongues as they do with their voices.

“What do you want?” Cartman breathes against his cheek.

“Anything.”

He can feel Cartman’s grin against his face. “Oh yeah? Guess you really are a sex addict.”

“Fuck off, butt-munch.”

Cartman’s hand moves to Kyle’s zipper, pulling it down and shoving his hand inside without finesse. Kyle cries out and lifts his hips.

“You think about doing this with the hippie?”

Kyle bites his lip as Cartman begins jacking him off roughly, lips at his ear, sucking on the lobe. “Don’t.. oh god. Don’t talk about Stan.”

“Awww. Can’t bring up your precious Stan, can we Jew?”

“Careful, you sound jealous,” Kyle breathes.

“In your dreams.”

Kyle pulls Cartman’s hair hard and forces their eyes to meet. “I tolerate you better when you’re not talking.”

And then they’re kissing again, and Cartman’s hand moves faster and Kyle’s possibly harder than he’s ever been in his life. He fumbles for Cartman’s pants, popping the button and easing the zipper down before sliding his hand inside his boxers. He’s big and Kyle can feel the pre-come already gathered at the head of his cock. He rubs the pad of his finger over it and Cartman hisses against their fused mouths.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Cartman mumbles against his lips. “Always knew you’d be like this.”

Kyle can barely process the words, but he knows they mean something, something he should question. All he can say in response is, “Don’t stop.”

“No fucking way,” Cartman says, kissing the corner of his mouth before presses their lips together again. They speed up their hands, working in time with one another. Kyle feels his balls begin to tighten and lets loose a sob against Cartman’s mouth.

Cartman pulls back, forcing their eyes to lock. His gaze his feral, his face flushed. “Come on,” he commands, gripping Kyle tighter and plunging his tongue into his mouth, prying his lips impossibly wide. Kyle’s legs come around to bracket Cartman’s thighs, closing around him while his hand works Cartman’s cock frantically.

He feels his orgasm hit him, crashing into him like a tidal wave. He moans his way through it, muffled by Cartman’s tongue in his mouth. He slides his fingers up around the head of Cartman’s cock and feels as he explodes; taking him through it with long, slow strokes.

“Fuck yeah,” Cartman breathes around his lips.

They're sweaty in their clothes, their hands and stomach slick with come. Cartman rests on top of him, face pressed against Kyle’s neck until he shoves at him. “Can’t fucking breathe, lard-ass.”

Cartman rolls off him, resting on his side next to Kyle. “Mmm. Is that a downgrade from fat-ass? I can’t tell with you.”

“It’s whatever you fucking want it to be. Can I please enjoy my post-orgasmic haze for a moment?”

“Jesus, maybe you’re actually the hippie. Post orgasmic haze? Who says that?”

“Oh my god, you just don’t stop.”

“Guess you’ll need to shut me up again,” Cartman says, eyes gleaming mischievously. Kyle rises to the challenge, climbing on top of him and pinning his arms over his head before lowering his lips to Cartman. Cartman’s moan is soft and it sends a tingle up Kyle’s spine. They make out lazily, Cartman’s arms coming up to stroke his back.

At that exact moment there’s a knock on the door. “Uh, guys?” Kenny peaks into the room and Kyle scrambles to pull the blankets over them, murmuring ‘shit!’ as he does so.

“So it’s been like, 30 minutes,” Kenny says, grinning as he sees them covered in blankets, their hair undoubtedly mussed up, and their cheeks probably bright red. “Yeah so like, everyone else kinda gave up on the game and just decided to make out. Except Stan, he’s been pacing the hallway thinking you guys really killed each other but was too chicken-shit to come inside. I’m the only one who thought you finally fucked out your sexual tension.”

Kyle groans and hides his head under the covers.

“Kenny, get the fuck outta here,” Cartman says.

Kyle can hear the grin in Kenny’s voice as he says. “As you wish.” He hears the door slam and Kenny yelling, “Craig, you owe me 20 bucks!”

Kyle peaks his head out from under the covers and looks at Cartman.

“This doesn’t fucking change anything.”

Cartman pushes the covers away and pulls Kyle back down on top of him. “On the contrary; I think it changes the frequency in which you’ll be getting laid,” Cartman says, emphasizing his statement with a roll of his hips and a hard squeeze to Kyle’s ass.

“I hate you,” Kyle says, but it comes out as a sigh, and he’s already mouthing at Carman’s jaw.

“Hate you too, Jewboy,” he responds, voice softer than Kyle’s heard it in a while.

“As long as we’re clear on that,” Kyle says, before claiming another kiss.

[end]


End file.
